Chapter 23 #2
Fitz didn’t hesitate. He brought one hand up behind her neck, the other anchoring low on her waist, and he kissed her.
Really kissed her. Not sloppy, not showy, but firm and focused, like he was proving a point.
His mouth molded to hers as his hand guided her deeper, and for a second, she melted into it, her hands bracing on his shoulders, her hips instinctively tipping forward.
I stared, unable to look away.
He didn’t kiss like a man who was trying to impress. He kissed like a man who had spent a lifetime holding back and finally decided not to. He kissed like he meant it.
And I hated how badly I wanted to know what it felt like. What it would be like to have that focus turned on me —not a taste, not a tease, but the full fucking force of whatever that was.
Claire pulled back, breathless and smiling.
Fitz leaned his head against the back of the chair, jaw tight, eyes dark, as the circle laughed and clapped and Jack made some comment I didn’t hear because my ears were ringing and my stomach had twisted into something warm and ugly.
And I swallowed the rest of my drink too fast, the burn sharp enough to distract me from the sudden, nauseating ache of wanting a man who clearly knew how to kiss like that—and had never once kissed me.
Normally, the person who got kissed would go next, but since Claire and Fitz had just swapped turns, the bottle passed to Jack, who looked positively thrilled to insert himself back into the game.
“Let’s go!,” he said, and gave the bottle a dramatic spin.
Naturally, the bottle landed on the one taken girl in the group, but I figured it was just as well since my brother seemed genuinely taken with his new love interest and was not looking for a casual hook-up.
He gave her wide eyes but then said, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll keep it G-rated. ”
Jack stood, crossed the circle, and gave her the most dramatic, exaggeratedly loud cheek peck imaginable, complete with a deep, theatrical bow and a whispered, “Call me.”
Her boyfriend laughed. “Okay, Casanova.”
She grinned and said, “Y’all, we should probably sit this out. I feel like we’re messing up the spicy fun for everyone else.” She gestured between herself and her boyfriend and then pulled him with her to go get another drink from the bar.
So then the bottle pointed to me.
I reached for the bottle with what I hoped looked like breezy nonchalance, but my fingers were shaking. I could feel Fitz’s eyes on me. I could feel my body still humming from watching that kiss—his kiss— on someone else .
I spun the bottle. As it whirled around, I stopped breathing. It slowed. Passed over Claire. The baseball guy. A girl with dark braids and a killer smile. Then Fitz.
It almost stopped on him.
Almost.
The tip of the bottle hesitated at his knee— God, it was so fucking close —and then eeked to the right, landing squarely on the guy next to him.
I heard Jack’s voice through the fog in my brain. “Whew. Good thing it kept going. That would’ve been like her kissing her other brother.”
My kissing partner was tall, muscled, with scruffy brunette curls windblown by the sea breeze. He looked like he played pro baseball or maybe just trained like he did. His smile was charming—confident and pleased, like he couldn’t believe his luck.
I didn’t look at Fitz. Didn’t let myself process the way my pulse jumped when Jack had said her other brother .
Instead, I stood, smoothed my flirty little peach romper, walked over to the baseball guy, and gave him a slow gaze up and down. “Stand up,” I said.
He looked surprised by my assertiveness but not bothered in the least, and he did as he was told. At full height, he was massive, at least six-four, broad everywhere, and suddenly I wasn’t performing—I was kind of into it. I tilted my head up to look at him. “You can pick me up, right?”
He grinned, already moving closer. “Come on, girl, don’t insult me.” He put his strong hands on my waist and lifted me, and I didn’t hesitate. I wrapped my legs around his waist, arms over his shoulders, leaned in, and kissed him.
I went slow at first—a little teasing, a nip on his bottom lip followed by a lick.
Just enough to draw it out. Then I deepened it.
He opened his lips when I licked at them, and I slipped just enough tongue in to make contact.
He met me with soft pressure and a swirl of his own tongue that made me let out a soft little moan into his mouth.
He kissed back like he meant it, and okay—the man could kiss.
His grip shifted from my thighs to my ass where he cupped my cheeks and hoisted me further into him. I’m sure my ass was on full display since my romper was short, but I didn’t care. Because every second my mouth was on this man’s, I knew who was watching.
I could feel Fitz’s eyes burning a hole in my bare skin. Could feel the weight of his stare. And that was what this was really about. Not the kiss. Not the muscles. Not the very promising way the baseball player’s hands slid over my skin.
It was about giving Fitz back a taste of the show he’d given me. If he wanted to kiss pretty strangers—fine. I could do that too. I could put on a show.
But when the kiss ended and the guy set me down gently on the sand, murmuring something like “damn, that was good,” I smiled and nodded with a soft knowing chuckle.
I snuck a quick glance at Fitz as I pretended to survey the bar. His face gave away nothing. It was blank, controlled, his lips tight, eyes flat. But I knew that look. That was him trying not to feel anything.
Too late. If he wanted to play, I was just getting started.